Life Goes On
by Fetchtival
Summary: Batman's story began in 1945, and it continued all the way through the 20th century. But does it go farther than that? And does he live to see the legacy he'll leave behind?
1. Chapter 1

1945

It hurt, when Bruce looked out the window and saw the city he grew up in. From his chair in the den of Wayne Manor, his parents'... _his_ home, rather, he had a perfect view of the city through a tall glass window. He saw the spotlights shine up on the heavy clouds in an attempt to help the dirigibles find their way through the night sky. He heard distant claps of thunder, followed by flashes of lightning. Rain beat against the window in a steady rhythm, and Bruce felt like weeping.

He didn't know how he had survived for so long, living that way. Every day, he woke up well past noon, and even then couldn't drag himself out of bed and into his clothes for another hour or more. He hardly ate enough to keep himself alive, and all he did when he _was_ among the living was waste away at home. He had no purpose. No drive. No meaning. His heart felt empty, and his chest felt constricted by his own ribs, and he often found himself wondering what the point of it all was. Over the course of twelve years, he had watched the city he grew up in descend into a cesspool, ruled by gangs and corrupt police. He missed his parents every day of his life. He felt ashamed of the way he was living. If his parents could only seen him, aimless and alone. How disappointed would they be in their only son? How much would they hate him for failing to amount to anything more than a sad, pathetic rich boy who never did anything to help improve the lives of his fellow men and women. With each day that passed, Bruce could stand the monotony and shallowness of his life less and less and less. The only reason he was still _alive_ was because he knew how much losing him would hurt Alfred and Leslie.

"What can I do?" he whispered, heartbroken. Every night he asked the same question of himself, and every night he found no answer. The rain continued to beat the glass. The thunder continued to clap. The city continued to sink further and further into its filth. But that night was different from all the other nights. Bruce just didn't know it yet. He held in his hands a copy of _A Study in Scarlet_ , unfinished even after he had begun to read it months ago. The old detective novel from his mother's collection would serve as one half of his inspiration that night in June. As for the other half...

The window shattered suddenly, and Bruce nearly fell from his chair. There was a screeching noise as the thunder clapped again. Rain soaked the carpet and he felt some of it splash against his face. He raised a hand as if to shield himself and he isaw it/i. The bat that had crashed into his home. In that moment, it left it's mark on Bruce, one that would last until his twilight years.

"Yes, father. I _understand_..." Bruce said to himself, his resolve shining for the first time in twelve long, aimless years. "I shall become a bat."

"Bruce Wayne! What have you been doing with your nights?"

Bruce blinked in surprise as lights flashed in his face. Over and over and over, each time with a pop that reminded him it was cameras blinding him and not a spotlight. And Vicki Vale was holding her pen and paper in hand, waiting for a response. At least, he was pretty sure that's what was happening. He could barely hear her over the live jazz band that was performing at the police gala that night.

"I've been... Dealing with some personal issues, I guess you could say." It wasn't entirely a lie, he reasoned. "But now I'm finally ready to embrace all that Gotham's high society has to offer," he told her in that fake voice he had practiced all week. All light and bouncy and utterly ivapid/i. He could hardly stand himself.

"The death of your parents, you mean?" Vicki asked. She was blunt, that's for sure. But in a way, he appreciated that.

"Yes. But it's time that I put that tragedy behind me and moved on with my life. I'm not a little boy anymore, Miss Vale." Another half truth. He'd moved on, but he hadn't left it behind him at all. "Now, I think I'd like to hit up the dance floor. Care to join me?"

He'd dance to a few songs, chat with a few more people, pretend to drink a few drinks, and then he'd slip away when nobody was paying attention. There were more important things for Bruce Wayne to do than enjoy some party.

He might have been crazy. He was hardly in his twenties and he was wearing a cape and cowl and a grey bodysuit that he hand stitched in the den of his parents' home. _His home_ , he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. His parents died when he was _eight years old_ and yet Bruce _still_ found himself thinking of them as though they were alive. Maybe that was part of why he was crazy. He laughed. A short, dry, _bitter_ laugh. One that could easily be mistaken for a cough.

Bruce checked the yellow belt that hung loosely from his waist. Purple gloved hands vetted each pocket, making absolutely sure that the first aid supplies were still there. He'd more than likely end up needing them, considering what he was about to do. That night was an important night. The most important night of Bruce Wayne's young life. Halfway across the world, a war that had consumed the planet and took countless lives was nearing it's end. But in Gotham City, New Jersey, something new was just seconds away from beginning. An entirely new war, Bruce thought to himself. A war for Gotham City's soul, after decades of spreading corruption and crime and cruelty. A war that was, in some part, instigated by two shots from a mugger's gun over a decade prior. This action, on this night, was Bruce Wayne's retaliation.

He took a deep breath, gripped the edges of his cape in his hands, and leapt off the building into the streets below. He felt like he was _flying_.

And when he landed, it was with a sickening _crunch_ as his boot stomped on the face of some Red Hood punk. The gangster crumpled just like that, but he had friends. Two other members of the Red Hood gang pulled their guns on him, and one more raced to toss their haul into the back of their getaway car. Instead of shooting at him, they just stared in shock and disbelief. Just as he had hoped. It was like some creature feature had come to life before their very eyes, and they were scrambling for clarity.

He reached out, grabbed the gunners by the backs of their masks, and slammed their heads together. While they were reeling, he punched one in the solar plexus as hard as he could. The other got a kick to the groin. Batman looked to the getaway driver, and found him fumbling to get the keys in the ignition. He scooped one of the pistols off the ground and hurled it at the driver in one clean motion. It connected with a dull thud, and he was out cold.

The Batman left before the police arrived, and naturally, nobody believed a word that the gang members said about the supposed bat monster that attacked them. Criminals were a superstitious and cowardly lot, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

1965

Going to the circus had been, quite possibly, the worst decision of Bruce Wayne's adult life. Of course, of course, _of course_ there would be a double homicide right in front of him on the one night he took off. And of course there would be a ten year old boy left sobbing beside the lifeless bodies of his parents. His relationship with Julie was finished the instant that he ran off to seek justice for the boy. He didn't much care.

By the end of the night, Batman had put the fear of God into Tony Zucco, and dropped him off at the GCPD's doorstep with his hands in cuffs. Bruce Wayne was called in as a witness to the trial, as was Dick Grayson. When they were still at the circus that night, Bruce convinced himself to stay away. He told himself that Dick Grayson would be better off without a crazy man with a bat costume as his guardian. But at the trial, he saw the _pain_ in Dick's eyes. The rage. The resolve. He saw in Dick's eyes everything that he saw in himself. He knew, there and then, that he had to be there for Dick.

Bruce offered to make Dick his ward, and the boy, traumatized as he was, just nodded his head in absentminded agreement. Bruce did his best to care for him. He enrolled Dick in a good school, he stayed home from the galas and board meetings in order to make sure that Dick was fed and had company, but he still left each night. Always after Dick was in bed, though. He made sure of that much.

Or at least he thought he did. But like anyone, Bruce slipped up. He didn't count on a child's lack of ability to sleep soundly during a thunder storm, and he didn't remember to close to secret entrance to the batcave in his study. And so, when Dick went wandering around the manor in search of Bruce that night, he found a staircase where a bookshelf ought to be.

The cave, in no uncertain terms, blew his little ten year old mind. Especially the giant penny. He had no idea why there was a giant penny.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "This is soooo cool!"

He didn't tell Bruce that he knew. Not at first, anyways. After touring the cave, Dick had retreated to his bedroom and spent the rest of the night drawing up costume plans in his journal.

Dick went through all sorts of ideas over the next few nights. Batboy was his first idea, though it went out the window after he decided that the name was terrible. It was only after the initial bat-themed sketches had been trashed that he stumbled across the right idea. His mother always called him her _Robin_. He didn't exactly know why, but it could have been for a variety of reasons. How he never sat still, how he seemed to soar through the air on the trapeze, his habit of whistling all the time... Could have been all of the above.

They wore green and yellow costumes, back in the circus. With the addition of red, like a robin's breast, Dick had found the perfect combination. He told Bruce that they needed fabric for a school project of his, and he asked Alfred to teach him how to sew. From there, he knew enough to put the costume together.

Bruce was in his study after putting Dick to sleep, deciding whether or not to give Shondra a call before he went into the cave for the night. Dick sat outside his door, spying on him all throughout the call, waiting for the moment that Bruce would hang up and show him how to get into the cave. Whatever he expected, it certainly wasn't a big red button hidden inside a bust of William Shakespeare. And yet, that's exactly what caused the bookcase to swing open. After Bruce had gone down the steps and closed the passageway behind him, Dick sprang into action.

He waited just the right amount of time before he mimicked Bruce's actions to open the door to the cave. Bruce was at the bottom of the stairs when he heard it swing open again. He spun around, expecting to see Alfred, only to be greeted by the sight of Dick leaping into the air. The boy flipped through the air, landed on his hands on one of the steps, and then launched himself back into the air. When he had succesfully reached the bottom of the stairs, vaulting over Bruce's head in the process, he grinned proudly at his mentor.

"What do ya think?" Dick asked. He struck a pose and showed off the costume he had designed. A black domino mask, a red tunic, green shorts and boots, and a cape with a black outside and a yellow underside. The kind of outfit you'd expect a kid to dream up.

Bruce just laughed. He didn't know what else to do. _Of course_ Dick had figured it out. He should have expected as much, really. Dick's smile faltered a bit at the sight, unsure of _what_ the laughing meant.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Bruce asked, once he had finally quelled his laughter. "You want to be my partner?"

"Duh!" Dick said. "What kid wouldn't want to fight crime with Batman?!"

"You know what? Fine. I suppose you earned a ride-along, with your detective work," Bruce said with a smile. "Just tell me one thing. How did you figure it out?"

"That's a mystery for _you_ to solve!" Dick shouted. He was already sprinting for the batmobile. By the time Bruce joined him, Dick was bouncing up and down in his seat.

Bruce wasn't an idiot, of course. He had a suspicion that Dick would catch on someday, he just didn't expect it to be so soon, or for him to attempt to become a hero himself. But he also wasn't just going to drive the kid into a shootout between the police and the Red Hood Gang. He'd stick to costumed rogues, the ones who just did it for kicks. Maybe Joker would get a kick out of it, and maybe it'd help Bruce _enjoy_ himself for once. It wasn't going to become a regular thing, though. It'd just be one night. Two tops.

Yeah, right.


End file.
